


Dark Legend (Core Chapters 1-6)

by Tarchannon



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, BDSM, Blood, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gothic, Horror, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarchannon/pseuds/Tarchannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plague vists the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. </p><p>(Please see the challenge Introduction (click the challenge link above) for a complete list of stories sorted by chapter - because this is a loose collection of stories, reading the Core stories (Hanks Journal entries) should help make the order of entries make more sense.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Legend Chapter 1 - The Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication.  
> 2) Originally posted 06/03/2002.  
> 3) This chapter: rated R (nudity, sexuality, implied violence, some BDSM references)  
> 4) Pairing(s): Remy POV (Logan/Jean/Scott, hints of Remy/Logan).

Four Months Ago – Diary of Dr. Henry McCoy

Rogue was the first to become ill, and the virus had quickly spread through the students and staff. Strangely, I was completely unaffected, though I was exposed thousands of times. I understood even less when Rogue was the first to die, crimson flowing from alabaster skin, a thousand pinpricks shedding a thousand ruby tears.

I had to watch as my friends, my family, suddenly fell to the sickness. Almost simultaneously, they exhibited sniffling and sneezing. Later, I could do nothing but listen to their screams and watch as their bodies warped or their powers were twisted as they lay in their rooms. 

The blood, oh, god, the blood! 

I felt powerless as the others sickened and I could do nothing about it. It acted like Legacy Virus in many ways, but also like smallpox and Ebola. It was clear that the virus only affected mutants, as the non-mutants that were on staff were unaffected, and stayed to help the others the best they could while avoiding spreading the plague to their families. I was desperately afraid that Warren had contracted the plague before returning to New York for the week. The fact that I couldn’t call out by land or cell phone was a strong indicator that this was a deliberate attack.

As the children died, one after the other, I thought that this was the end of all of us. I could feel the darkness fall. 

And then it happened. Most of my charges started to recover, emerging from the blood and the pain as something new. Something darker than before. 

They were transformed, and I cannot help but think that it might have been better if they had died. 

* * *  
Two Weeks Ago – New Orleans

“Those fools!” Nathaniel Essex thundered. 

The doctor’s immense frame shook in anger as he looked at the results of the simulation. The Legend Virus had been constructed by a real hack and had a 0.000000001% chance of changing host specificities from mutant to human. That wasn’t a large number in real terms, but considering that somewhere between a million and a billion viruses were generated upon every infection, the chance of it spreading to humans was very high. It was likely that after the disease had spread to five or ten thousand mutants, the virus would have mutated enough to cross over and bring a plague of unimagined proportion. There were almost a million mutants in the world.

Essex pounded his fist on the stainless steel counter, producing a bigger dent with each contact. “What are they trying to do?” 

He sagged against the examining table behind him. 

The virus spread like smallpox, in the air and on surfaces. It produces a runny nose and sneezing through the progression of the infection and the virus lives for long periods on surfaces. The Legacy Virus had been genetically designed and used as a mutant plague, and the Legend Virus had been hacked from it. Dr. Henry McCoy had developed an vaccinating anti-sera to the original virus, but by only after untold numbers of genetically valuable mutants had been killed. The new virus had been designed to circumvent the effects of the vaccine. The Legacy Virus had crossed into humans as well, but it had happened in rural China, and the government had virtually completely suppressed knowledge that 6.5 million humans had died. Not that that mattered, but the idiots had obviously not known about the inherent instability of the virus and failed to fix the problem. In fact, the simulation indicated that they made it worse. Ten to twelve independent outbreaks throughout the world would decimate incredible numbers of people and cause global breakdowns in political, social, and financial structure. 

Beyond the sheer loss of the precious mutant genes, the disruption of his work could not be tolerated. 

The problem was, these bioterrorists had started with the very place that housed the world’s expert on how to stop it – the Xavier Academy. 

Essex crossed to a small console at the end of the lab and hit the intercom button. “Send LeBeau to me,” he commanded into the microphone, the very air shuddering with his fury.


	2. Dark Legend Chapter 2 - Darkness Gathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. The darkness gathers, but a spark of hope emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication.  
> 2) Originally posted 06/03/2002.

The Diary of Dr. Henry McCoy – August 23, 2027

My hundred and third attempt to replicate the accident that had sparked my second emergence had failed. I am no closer to determining why I am immune to the virus, and I am beginning to lose hope. I had hypothesized that the accident had provided the immunity since I could find no other logical reason, but I have been unable to recreate the conditions of the accident. I think the pressure and isolation is getting to me, and I am embarrassed to admit that I threw a tantrum in the lab this afternoon. Between the cultures and the broken plastic, I had made quite a mess. I think Bobby may have heard me, but I guess that would be a good thing since it reinforces my cover. Unfortunately, my outburst did little to relieve the darkness that seems to be permeating everything. 

It’s been four months since the attack on the Mansion, four months since the Legend Virus plague had started. They had been the darkest four months of his life, and the worst part was, none of the others really realized what had happened. My initial studies indicate that the virus lays dormant in neural tissue, creating strange behavioral modifications among the survivors. 

The Friends of Humanity had added introduced the Legend Virus – clearly a modified Legacy virus - to the Academy by using a purified powder carrier brought in by a pair of zealots disguised as concerned parents of a prospective student. They actually had had the nerve to brag about it on television! It had spread quickly, infecting everyone in the school in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, Warren and a few others were infected and had left the grounds at the end of the school day, carrying the plague to Salem Center and New York City before they started exhibiting symptoms. The virus had spread quickly from there, vectoring by touch and by aerosol throughout the mutant population, crossing the country and the world in a matter of days and weeks. It was in China that the first evidence of poor genetic engineering was revealed nearly a month after initial exposure. Like the Legacy Virus before it, the Legend Virus began to infect humans, initiating a devastation that made the Legacy human death toll look inconsequential.. Apparently, the construction was so faulty, more than one instance of the conversion came about, and quickly the people of the world started dying. The human-killer variant hadn’t reached the United States yet, but it seemed that it was only a matter of time. 

From the information that I had been able to gather over the last few months from colleagues from around the world, the virus was about 75% lethal in mutants without previous Legacy immunization, which seemed to provide some additional protection in many, but not all, mutants. The new strain that affected humans was about 60% lethal, but prior immunization seemed to have no effect. Fortunately, about 20% of both mutants and humans were naturally immune. 

The world was dying, if not through extinction, then by disruption of civilization.

Strangely, the X-Men, all of whom had received my second generation Legacy virus booster vaccine, had survived in unexpected numbers. Among those with the second vaccinations, the infection triggered a bout of severe illness, during which a second emergence occurred, much like the lab accident had changed Hank from nearly human to a blue, leonine mutant of significantly more power. Worse yet, the people that survived emerged strangely twisted from the presence of the virus. Darker, more intense, exaggerated in a typically bad way. Uninhibited. All of the X-Men were almost a dark parody of their former selves. 

My friends are no longer the people they once were.

I still hold out hope that if I can figure out why I am immune, or why others in the population are immune, I can use that factor to help remove the final traces of virus from my friends. Perhaps, this will restore them to their original personalities. If I am not successful in developing a cure, I am deeply afraid that the world will fall into a dark age.

So for now, I am playing along with the others, pretending to have been affected - assuming a deep scowl and a hostile, aggressive demeanor. Twice now, I have had to threaten physical violence to protect my secret project, and I am afraid that I will be discovered if I don’t find help soon. Before the attack, the others had left me well enough alone, and now with the changes, they are far less likely to bother me with random visits, as they are involved in their own distasteful pursuits. But I am still vulnerable.

I have been working feverishly to develop a solution to the Legend Virus, and I am getting tired. I started praying today.

* * *  
“What do you have for me?” the tall, trim, beautiful man with copper hair and red-on-black eyes asked him softly, voice melodious and rhythmic with a distinct Cajun accent. The man stood looking up at him, head tilted down, but eyes looking up to meet his, only partially screened by artfully unruly hair. A cocky insolence was evident in everything about the man, from the tilt of his hips to the long ash on the end of the cigarette hanging from the corner of this mouth.

Nathaniel Essex was a powerful man, wealthy beyond a prodigious need, and having a very long reach that descended into the darkest of the places on Earth. He had uses for one such as this – smart, educated, streetwise, hungry. Many uses. It was the hunger that had brought the banished Prince of Thieves to him: the hunger for a challenge, the hunger for contact, the hunger for the company of those like himself. He knew the thief hated having to return so close to his home, knowing he could not go those last few meters, but Essex knew that the young man didn’t dare refuse him.

“Go over to that cabinet, open it and remove the gold box. Within there is a white powder. I want you to see if you can identify the odor.”

The thief looked at him quizzically, but after a moment obeyed. He sauntered over to the case, nimbly opened the cabinet and did what he was asked to do. “Don’t smell anything,” he said after a moment. 

“Good. Now I want you to return to your room. If you start sneezing, I want you to notify me. Otherwise, I want you back here in the lab at 08:00 tomorrow for your instructions.”

The Cajun knew nothing of his sinister intentions, nor any of the hundreds of things he had done that few would consider acceptable, or even worse, ethical. All he knew was that he was the brilliant physician that had saved his precious Belladonna – his Juliet, now farther away than if she was dead. Essex mused that his ignorance would likely be his undoing. Essex left the lab and exited the building to stroll through the garden courtyard. The night was hot and sticky, the air close and carrying a hint of growth and decay. The moonlight never touched him as he moved from inky pool to inky pool under the moss-laden trees and considered his plan. 

Essex had known that the young man had been exposed to the virus several times before and had shown no sign of infection. But he had to be absolutely sure the man was immune to the Legacy Virus. 

The man, sometimes known as Sinister in the dark alleys of the world, felt the wetness trickle form his nose, and removed a handkerchief to staunch the red flow. He paused to rest for a moment, sitting the wrought iron bench beneath a large magnolia tree, listening to the sounds of the night. He extracted a small pill from a vial in his shirt pocket, and swallowed it almost without thought.

Essex sat for some time, eventually seeing the light of the guest room go out. He sighed, disturbed and desperate, as he whispered to himself words that barely penetrated the think air. 

“To think, the fate of the world just might depend on this Cajun thief.”


	3. Dark Legends Chapter 3 - Arrival at the Xavier Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. A hero arrives and is enveloped in darkness.

The Xavier Academy - August 29, 2027

Remy had parked his motorcycle in the wood just off Highway Six and slipped over the perimeter fence, neatly avoiding the cameras, the thermal sensors, and the motion detectors. They appeared to be heavily automated, making them simple to avoid with the proper electronic gadgets. The real trick wasn’t one that could have been handled by the expensive toys – the occasional mind sweeps that passed over him at seemingly random intervals could only be blocked by the mysterious, complex mental shielding that he possessed. 

The thief had first felt the gentle whispering flashes of pale yellow pressure at the back of his head when he arrived In New York. He wasn’t particularly bothered by it then, because he had felt such random searches any number of times in New Orleans, London, and Paris. The psions of the world liked to concentrate in the urban areas where their gifts could be used to advantage. But his initial impression changed as he rode out to Westechester County, toward the school he was supposed to case. Essex had told him that there could be two powerful psions there, one the most powerful in the world. The closer he came to the school, the more intense the probes felt. Their immense strength was unbelievable, frightening. The fact that he knew his mental shields were as strong and flexible as his physical body took the edge of his growing sense of dread. Thank heavens he was invisible to the invasive challenges. 

Two days ago, Essex had told him more about himself and the plague than he would have believed. It had been the morning after the doctor had deliberately exposed him to concentrated Legend Virus. Remy had known what it was, and had known that he was immune. He’d been exposed a half-dozen times before that night, and strangely, he knew he’d be fine. Everyone exposed got sick, apparently even the genetically altered Essex, from the look of his handkerchief. Everyone but the Cajun – and maybe this guy he was supposed to find.

Nathaniel Essex had told him a lot of things that morning, enough incriminating information that the thief had known that there was a great deal more to the good doctor then he had ever guessed. Within an hour of the meeting, he had started digging, and by the evening he had uncovered tantalizing hints to Essex’s well hidden dark side. It had become clear to the Cajun that he had unwittingly made a deal with devil for Bella’s life, a deal that was more than he had ever bargained for. Remy had felt used and bitter at the doctor’s betrayal, the latest in a long line of betrayals.

LeBeau knew that Essex had tipped his hand, divulging information that he knew could harm him. He was sure that Essex knew he would figure it out. After racking his brain, the only reason Remy could come up with for the lapse was that the doctor had contracted the virus and needed help. He had to know that he’d lose his best operative. But, help finding a cure for the Legend Virus was something he could buy into, even if Essex’s motivations were far less than pure. 

Remy LeBeau had read the stories and seen the artwork. There’d been many people that had danced with the devil and survived, and he certainly knew how to dance. He just had to be sure to keep one step ahead of this Mr. Sinister until he could excuse himself from his wicked partner. 

So he’d taken the deal, to find out if a certain Dr. Henry McCoy was still alive and living at the school – the very epicenter of the Legend Virus outbreak. Essex had discovered that a great number of e-mails were being sent and received from the Xavier Academy, which according to Sinister should have been virtually swept clean of life by the virus, as it was a haven for mutants. Additionally, many of the messages were being sent to unusual locations – universities, hospitals, laboratories – many of which had connections to one fuzzy blue Ph.D. who happened to be the world’s foremost expert on the Legacy Virus. Essex suspected that the Academy hadn’t been decimated, and that McCoy was still alive, and Essex needed to know why. Direct contact was impossible, for he had made enemies of those mutants long ago. The Cajun was to go to the school and do a population check and a general casing of the facility, and report back to Essex, all without being detected by anyone at the school or anyone keeping an eye on it. No simple task considering that the place may still house a couple dozen of the most powerful mutants on the planet.

The federal agents assigned to observe the activity in and around the Xavier Estate had been easy to avoid. The were low level agents with little experience and no instincts, and they were easily tricked into being elsewhere at the time he crossed the fence. Even better, he had tagged them so he’d know where they were on his way out. One extra special submarine sandwich delivery with a couple of passive radio wave homing beads in amongst the poppy seeds, and the agents were eliminated as a discovery threat.

Essex had briefed him on what he should expect to encounter if nothing out of the ordinary had happened – people, blueprints, security, pretty much everything. But he also said that _absolutely anything_ could have happened, from the grisly to the unimaginable. Judging from the power of the mind scans, something had happened. No one was *that* powerful. Remy had shuddered in apprehension.

He had chosen to cross onto the grounds some distance from the main gates and at a point well behind the Mansion to avoid having to cross the small stream that passed under the Six, entered the property and ran into the lake to the north of the school. He nearly silently slipped between the trees in the very dim illumination of the new moon. It was fairly cloudy, and only a few stars peeked through the dark clouds above. 

Using his well-honed skills, he avoided a surprising number of internal security features, including using his bo staff to vault a motion sensor grid at the edge of the lawn behind the Mansion. He stealthily crept up to the huge, stone faced Mansion, the south side of which was cast into complete shadow by the pale sliver of the moon. He froze in fear as a nearly-inhuman shriek came from high above in one of the towers. Completely still except for two fingers sliding a few playing cards out of a deck and into his palm, he waited to see if he had been discovered. A few moments later he heard a low moan coming from rooms far closer. He shuddered at the disturbing sounds, and he wondered for the fiftieth time why he was getting involved in this. Sensing no immediate danger, he continued to the wall and then up, beginning his assessment.

* * *   
Unable to resist the sensual draw of anticipated pleasure emanating from the room, Remy scaled the rough stone wall to the second floor, and followed the waves of lust. He peered into a number of darkened windows revealing a row of neat, empty bedrooms with easily opened windows. They looked unoccupied, but a little further down, one of the windows was open, and the sounds coming from the room indicated that it was far from empty. Two distinct male moans and a quiet commanding female voice were clearly emanating from that bed chamber. Remy carefully headed in that direction.

After a few moments of precarious climbing, the Cajun peeked into the room, astounded by the sights presented. A beautiful, pale skinned, red-haired woman stood in the middle of the room dressed like Mistress Madelyn from back home. The first thing that caught his eyes were the shiny, black, sky high-heeled patent leather boots. Dark silk stockings held in place by a black garter belt graced he shapely legs, rising to meet at slit black panties. Her ample, rosy-tipped breasts spilled over a boned, black patent leather paneled merry widow, and she wore a black leather ring-studded collar that bore fine silver chains that flowed down her flawless, milk-pale skin to attach to matching loops on the corset on either side of her breasts. Long, black silk opera gloves covering hands holding either end of a dark riding crop completed the perfection that she was. The toe of one boot secured to the floor two thin leather straps, one for each of the men. Remy grew hard at the sight.

The Cajun’s eyes wandered to the others, two men, very different from one another and kneeling before her, eyes downcast, one behind the other. Collared and leashed and wearing nothing else. The man closest to the woman looked about 30 and had impossibly wide shoulders and unusual golden olive skin. He was handsome, with an angular face and a square cleft chin. His eyes were closed. The man sat virtually unmoving, but his throbbing erection betrayed his interest. Behind him was another man, the last of the trio to catch his attention. He was a dark-haired man, shorter, and far stockier. Muscularly massive in fact, with a chest deep enough to stretch plausibility. Utterly ripped, with thighs that boggled his imagination. Bare, rippled back, deeply veed, but the rest covered with a heavy dusting of black manfuzz. He too was erect, thick and impressive as the rest, throbbing with a powerful heartbeat. Instinctively, Remy’s cock throbbed in response, synching the pulses. 

Remy was startled by his physical response. He was no stranger to a man’s bed, but this guy was not what usually caught his eye. Not handsome, not like himself, but striking, with long sideburns running into hair swept back into peaks. Hard, tough. But there was something else. He continued to watch the dark man, mesmerized. He had a hard expression, eyes downcast but strangely glittering.

“I understand you disobeyed me,” the woman intoned, her displeasure evident in her voice. “I did not give you permission for your little romp outside.” 

Remy watched as the men started to squirm, squatting lower, knees spreading slightly. Both men grimaced as they struggled to remain in position and resist some mysterious, painful tugging. Pain and desire flowed from the men, taking the Cajun’s breath away. 

Gathering the little self-control he could muster in the emotional onslaught, the thief could barely break out of the emotional hypnotism the red-haired woman projected. He ripped his eyes from the erotic tableau before him, quietly leaning back from the window. For a second, it was all he could do to clutch the stone façade, forcing the insidious call from his head. Successfully blocking, he started moving across the side of the building, trying to distance himself from the psion and regain control of his still racing pulse. 

He hadn’t see the faint turn of the head and the glance the short man made to the window the instant he was out of sight. He did, however, hear the resounding thwack of the riding crop on flesh and the subsequent moan.

“Your attention belongs to me, “ she whispered, sending chills down his spine that weren’t entirely his own. “That and everything else when you come here.” 

Remy, cock throbbing in sympathy with the enraptured men, quickly distanced himself from the redhead and struggled to continue his mission without being detected. The woman was unmistakably Dr. Jean Gray. He didn’t recognize the taller man, but the other must be Logan, the mysterious, nearly feral man with the metal claws. He mentally cataloged the sightings, then continued.

A few hours later, the Cajun slipped back over the fence, mission accomplished – Dr. McCoy was indeed alive and working. He wanted to get as far away from that place as he could get before contacting Essex. It was as if an overpowering cloud hovered over that place - dark, brooding, and shockingly erotic. The situation at the Academy were most certainly not normal, based on Essex’s descriptions. The emotions there were nearly overpowering, and Remy was thankful to have his leave.

But as he rode back down the Six, relieved at his escape, the memory of the dark-haired man would not leave his head, and the emotional echo of that sweetly painful groan haunted him for days after.


	4. Dark Legend Chapter 4 - Storm Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. Storm Goddess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication  
> 2) Remy note – this is AU, so this Gambit is not the traditional comic character. This Remy is a modern prince of thieves, educated, worldly, more sophisticated. And yes, still screwed up.   
> 3) Originally posted: 07/14/2002.  
> 4) Challenge #3, introduce Remy to the school.

The Xavier Mansion – July 5 , 2027 – two months earlier

“Kurt?” the cultured voice called out from the far side of the only door to the tiny chapel. “Kurt, you must let me in. I have to check the progress of your recovery.”

Kurt barely heard the voice through the mental haze. He forced his head up and the room spun a little, the faceted colored light from the stained glass dancing blearily before his eyes. The bleeding had stopped, but he still felt in his heart that things were still so terribly wrong. He closed his eyes, hoping the spinning would stop.

After about a minute, the voice, tinged with exasperation, called out again. “Kurt, open the door or I’ll tell Charles that you are not cooperating.” 

The room had somewhat ceased its revolutions, and he forced himself up and across the room to the door. He didn’t feel sure enough of himself to bampf. He leaned against the cool stone archway as he fumbled with the door latch. He hated to open the door, as this was the only place he felt safe now.

“Thank goodness!” Henry McCoy exclaimed as the door opened. Kurt sagged back against the wall, and the huge, leonine doctor moved quickly to help him over to the cot. Henry had brought it to the chapel when Kurt had told him that he was certain that he was going to die and had refused to leave the nave. 

The big blue man growled softly under his breath as he noticed that most of Kurt’s dinner was still lying cold on the tray. Henry’s bright blue eyes flicked to meet his, concern, anger, and a bit of fear crinkling the corners of those very human eyes. Henry eased him back onto the cot, smoothly and professionally beginning to check his condition.

He had always envied Henry for his eyes. They were both mutants, and they were both blue, but Henry had the eyes of an angel. His eyes reminded himself that there were things worse than fire in hell.

But Kurt didn’t have to wait for death for hell to come for him. It had already started, and there was little he could do but pray. He sagged back into the thin mattress, enjoying the comfort, the human contact of those cool hands that his friend provided.

“Your fever is fading,” the big man told him, leaning back to rest on his haunches. “Are the dreams still bad?”

Kurt hesitated. The visions were so powerful, he hesitated to tell anyone of them. He looked up into the other man’s eyes and saw only kindness and compassion. He nodded, not able to look the man in his eyes. He felt defiled by his dreams.

“I can give you something to quiet the dreams. They should stop when the fever breaks. But you have to take the pills with food.”

Henry hesitated. “Kurt, you have to eat.”

Kurt looked up at him, ashamed and miserable. “I can feel the evil in me,” he whispered.

Tears welled in Henry’s eyes, and he placed a big paw on his arm. “We all have evil in us. It’s what you do in life that makes the difference.”

“It’s so hard… I want… but I musn’t.” He paused, unconsciously reaching to finger the silver crucifix around his neck. In a slightly firmer voice, he confessed, “I don’t want to be evil.”

“Then you must fight,” the big man rumbled, clearly angry and frustrated. Suddenly, he grew thoughtful, and after a few moments he asked, “Will you help me?”

Kurt looked at Henry, not understanding.

“I have to stop the virus, and I need help. I need someone that can get things for me from outside the school.”

“It’s God’s will,” the German answered in a whisper, almost ashamed.

Henry’s expression was thoughtful. “If God’s hand guides all of our lives, isn’t it his choice who lives and dies?”

Kurt nodded slowly.

“And isn’t it our sole responsibility to lead our lives in the service of what is good and right?”

The young man nodded again.

“Then you must help me end the pain and suffering of others.”

Kurt was scared, more frightened than he had ever been. He was frightened at the thought of leaving, reentering the word that he had seen damned in his mind. But he could not deny Henry’s words. He had to choose God over Satan, and he had to keep on choosing everyday.

The small man stuttered, still weak. “I-I will help you.”

Dr. Henry McCoy gave him a wide, toothy, almost ferocious grin. The man patted his arm comfortingly. 

“I’m going to get you some juice, then you’ll eat some toast,” he said firmly, but remnants of the grin lingered as he rose. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Kurt watched him go, and the dizziness returned. Head spinning, he truly wondered if he had the strength to keep fighting the darkness within him, let alone the darkness outside his little sanctuary. He watched as the last red rays of the setting sun glimmered through the stained glass and then went dark.

 

* * *  
The Xavier Academy – September 05, 2027

Remy rode a new Ducati back up the Six toward the Academy, steeling himself for the immersion in that surreal other world. Things had gotten bad - the general level of fear all across the country had become almost overwhelming and he had to struggle to keep it out of his head at times. It was a dark time for mutants, many of the survivors still sick, but the darkness without paled in comparison to that that surrounded and permeated the Academy. 

Prep school.

Military base. 

Insane asylum. 

Remy shuddered, and it had little to do with the first fall chill in the air.

* * *  
He used the security codes his péré had provided for him, supplied by Charles Xavier himself. He had hated involving Jean-Luc, but he had no time to arrange a chance encounter. Nathaniel seemed to have been correct in his assumption that the telepaths could not ‘see’ him, so he couldn’t just hang around nearby until Xavier noticed him and came to gather him up like the others he’d seen. There was just no time. People were dying in blood and anguish all over the world.

*Blood and anguish*

He repeated that to himself over and over like a mantra, trying to quell his deepest fear, the fear that had been revived at the school just a week ago.

He had cased the school and the Mansion on consecutive nights, and it was on that second night that he saw the things that truly frightened him. He could deal with the droplets of blood, the strange mutants, and the deep decadence that he had seen. He’d seen it before, and participated in more depravity than he wanted to remember. But it was the servants in the Mansion, moving about vacant eyed, performing their duties like automatons that had terrified him, fear like a knife in his heart. He’d almost fallen from the wall, and his hands shook all night.

His Tante Marie had practiced voudou, and he had seen the rituals on the streets as a child. He had seen the zombies in the dark of the night. He hadn’t understood as a child, but an adult understanding never quelled his horror. To have your will stripped away, do the bidding of another. He could still hear himself screaming in the night, running in the dark that first time her seen them, and the fear felt as fresh to him as it had been last night.

*Blood and anguish. Blood and anguish. Blood and anguish*

He used the words to quiet the fear. He knew he had strong shields, he knew that if anyone could do this, he could.

But, these people could make zombies, and that kept the ice in his veins and a chill in his heart. 

* * *  
Remy was one of three new recruits that had just arrived. They been asked to assemble in the main hall at one. Remy had arrived at the foot of the main stairwell a few minutes early, and found himself alone with a pretty young woman who introduced herself as Akasha. She looked quite nervous at her surrounding, so Remy had turned his brilliant, expensive smile charm on her. She relaxed a bit and they chatted for a few minutes, then they were joined by a beautiful, young Italian boy. He looked shyly at them. Remy flirted outrageously, and was rewarded with a dazzling little smile. 

They all turned when they heard his throat being cleared. 

Scott Summers, the top dog, the team leader, stood in the hallway a few feet away, face grim. Remy had only gotten a partial glimpses of the man through the window. If he hadn’t been with Jean, even Essex wouldn’t have guessed that this man was the same person. Remy could feel that the man facing them was all about discipline. He had a hard time reconciling that with his impression from the other night. Perhaps it was the rigidity of the posture or the grim set of the jaw.

Cyclops was a tall man, with incredibly wide shoulders. His green-golden skin was complimented by the tight, shiny green shirt that was zipped almost all the way up to his throat. Remy noticed that the long sleeves and the stand up, military collar would hide a multitude of sins. He caught a glimpse of a thin black leather collar and cuffs just peaking out from under the shirt. The shirt was tucked into tight leather pants, those into high leather boots. He looked strong and powerful, and his expression made him unconsciously snap to attention. 

He started intently at them with red-fire-in-blue eyes, sizing them up. Remy could feel the anger burning in him, but was slightly comforted that it was not aimed at them. 

“I’m Scott Summers, the team leader.” He stated in a crisp, formal tone. “I assume you are Akasha, Marco, and Remy?”

Three heads nodded in turn. Remy noticed that the others also stood tall, looking a little uncomfortable. 

Scott started pacing up and down in front of them, explaining in no uncertain terms about what would be expected of them. He was intently observing his new leader, finding the dichotomy of the man’s private and public behavior strange and intriguing, when he felt the movement. A shifting that he didn’t feel in his skin, but his mind. He couldn’t suppress a shudder. _He_ was coming. 

Behind Scott, a paneled door opened. Remy didn’t dare look, but he passively felt with his mind. The faint buzz that he had felt since he arrived was emanating from that figure. He felt like a shell filled with a billion tiny bees. This was the source of those intense searching waves. Remy felt ill, panic rising in him until he could just taste the bile. 

The figure cleared his throat.

Four pairs of eyes turned to the man, and the three new people gaped in awe. A well dressed, distinguished man in his mid fifties _floated_ in the doorway. If that wasn’t enough, Remy noticed that the man’s head bulged slightly, as if his brain had tried to outgrow his skull. The buzz grew in intensity as he floated toward them, and Remy fought the urge to run screaming as far and as fast as he could. 

Scott introduced their leader, revealing just a hint of the seething anger under his steely control. “I would like you to meet our commander, Charles Xavier.”

Xavier floated closer, facing them. The man nodded his head, accepting the introduction. He floated closer to Akasha, regarding her intensely as if her could look into her skull. 

The realization drove the fear right through his heart, and if he were any less afraid, he would have bolted. The man was going to scan him, take his will away. His péré would have been proud, because while inside he was screaming, he remained stiff but emotionless on the outside. 

The man nodded slightly, then did the same examination to the dark-haired boy. He looked pleased. 

Remy felt a mental breeze, a swirling in the psychic field the man generated. Someone was coming down the stairs. Someone powerful. 

Remy watched as Xavier also responded, eyes flicking to the stairs, then upward as if he could see through the ceiling. Remy could feel the waves of emotion emanating from the stairwell. 

*Mon, Dieu! Save me,* he thought as Xavier turned his staggering attention to him. But Remy could tell he was slightly distracted. The other force approaching was apparently a higher priority. 

The realization buoyed him slightly, and he concentrated on being invisible, transparent. He felt Xavier’s mind brush his shields. They rippled under the onslaught, but held, deflecting the older man’s probe. 

As Xavier opened his mouth to speak, the approaching force arrived, and the intense light of his attention receded. He was safe. 

Quickly recovering his wits, he turned slightly to see a woman on the landing of the stairway. She was both beautiful and terrible, a spirit of nature, smooth brown skin flushed with midnight, long hair, palest white, crackling with electricity. In her way, she was intense as Xavier, and he could feel his fingertips tingle with charge. 

The thief watched as the electrified woman’s eyebrow went up, and her expression started to darken. Annoyance poured off her in waves. He felt Xavier’s curiosity, interest, then lust. 

He looked away, not daring to draw her attention.

Xavier turned back to the new recruits, still essentially focuses on the woman. He could feel her impatience building very quickly.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Charles told them as warmly as he could muster, his distraction bleeding through. “I hope your time with us will be productive. Now, if you will excuse me…”

*Merci, mon dieu!* he thought, relaxing infinitesimally, a tiny smile of relief played at his lips.

Remy watched with interest as Xavier floated quickly up the stairs with the strange, powerful woman, lust and anticipation pouring off him.

After a moment, Summers resumed his spiel, but Remy could sense his fascination and fear of Xavier’s behavior. He barely heard the rest of the speech.

*Blood and anguish. Blood and anguish. Blood and anguish* he repeated to himself, trying to quiet his fear.

* * *  
Cyclops was just about to dismiss them as Remy felt the other psionic presence that he recognized from before – the woman, Jean Grey. She was nearby, and she was… pleased. After a few seconds, she came around the corner behind Scott into the main hall where they were gathered. Her eyes were frighteningly vacant, but her expression was that of a cat that had gotten to the canary. Remy shuddered. Then he noticed that she was accompanied by another, the other man he spied in her bedroom, the short, muscular man that had scarcely left his mind over the last week. Logan. Remy let out a little gasp.

Stunned at the sudden connection he felt, he simply stared, mouth slightly open. 

Cyclops turned toward Remy in response to the gasp and looked like he was dress him down when he caught the Arcadian’s expression, and following his eyes, continued turning until he caught sight of the sated pair. 

Remy could _feel_ this man called Logan. The connection was strong, almost overwhelming, an emotional tide like a heartbeat. He struggled to control it. But even in his hazy state, he couldn’t help but feel the waves of anger, and jealousy, and… lust that poured from Scott when he saw Logan and Jean together. Scott’s anger helped Remy focus on clamping down on the raw bond he felt with the wild looking man. 

Strangely, Logan must have felt some of that connection as well, because he stopped mid-stride and his complete attention suddenly snapped to the Cajun. 

Remy, still reeling, watched as Logan’s nose flared, as if he could scent him. The man met his eyes, deep brown and so intense, and they were boring into him. Remy couldn’t look away.

As if in a dream, Remy watched out of the corner of his eye as Jean had noticed Scott’s look, and her smile grew far more disturbing as she spoke softly to Logan. She suddenly stopped as well, glancing back at Logan in annoyance, then surprise. She followed the older man’s gaze to him. Remy couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes from Logan’s, as her expression twisted into something terrible to behold. He felt the flash of possessiveness followed by an overwhelming eruption of anger. 

Every fiber of his being told him that he was in grave danger, to escape, but he was locked into immobility from the feedback generated by his first encounter with the man called Wolverine. He stood, tense, frantically trying to clamp down on his emotions run wild and to regain the use of his legs.

Scott had managed to spit out a cold, “Jean…,” before he saw her expression darken. His words died in his throat, and Remy could feel his fear blossom and grow, tinged just slightly with curiosity at Logan’s behavior. 

Jean’s fury was unmistakable, and it rolled off her in waves. Jealously and possessiveness boiling over, she he shot another quick glance at Logan’s transfixed expression. 

“No!” she screamed, and threw a look of death at Remy.

The Cajun felt it an instant before it struck. Instinctively, his mind relaxed. *I am invisible, I am a mirror.*

Remy felt the searing strength of the psychic bolt, felt it strike and spread, felt his shields ripple and give. He imagined them to be a droplet of water, and the was amazed as they resisted, then recoiled. His mind had reflected the bolt. Jean shrieked again, then went down. 

It had all taken three seconds.

“Jeannie!” Logan yelled as he watched her slump, dropping to a crouch to gather her up, the connection broken. Remy came back to himself.

“Jean!” Scott exclaimed, launching himself to her side. Remy could feel the genuine concern from the men, but Logan’s was tinged with relief, then guilt. 

Remy looked around. Akasha and Marco looked shocked, and from the responses of the others, no one had a clue as to what transpired. Jean’s mind was quiet – she was unconscious, not dead.

Logan had gathered Jean in his arms and was rocking her stroking her face with a surprising tenderness. “Jeannie, wake up.”

A instant later Scott reached them. “Logan, back off!” he commanded.

Remy could feel the man slipping away and the animal emerging. He watched in shock and horror as the situation continued to go horribly awry.

Logan looked up at the taller man and did nothing but growl a deep, dangerous sound. He wrapped Jean’s limp body in his arms and pulled her tightly to him, rocking her and making soft whimpering noises. 

Seeing the man’s feral reactions, Cyclops spoke again, this time lower, more even, but losing none of the authority of before. “Logan, let her go. She my be hurt.”

The Canadian growled again, unhappy and resistant, but far less threatening. 

“She’s *my* wife, Logan. Let. Her. Go,” he ordered.

His words seemed to trigger something in Logan. After a few seconds, Remy could feel the animal fading, anguish and loneliness growing. The warred for a few long moments, then with an emotional tearing, he relinquished Jean to her husband. Remy ached with Logan’s pain. 

Scott picked Jean up in his arms, and started back down the hall a few steps when Remy felt her regain consciousness.

“What…” she whispered. A chill ran down Remy’s spine.

“Shhhhh. I’m taking you to Hank.” Scott reached up to gently brush a lock of stray hair from her eyes before continuing down the hall and around the corner. 

Logan was still on the floor, and Remy could feel his misery. But there was a hint of steely resolution there that hadn’t been there before. The Acadian watched at the big man got back up to his feet and started to trudge down the hall behind them. 

At the corner, he stopped then turned to look back at them. All three of them hadn’t moved an inch, but Logan had eyes only for Remy. Again, there eyes locked. Even from that far way, the Canadian’s glance was electric, and Remy could feel the strange bond between then flare with a pulse like a heartbeat.

Logan’s expression turned thoughtful, and he looked at Remy as if he was seeing him for the first time. Remy’s mouth went dry with the lust that pulsed along the link, and he stared back hungrily. The older man’s eyes raked over his body.

Logan met his eyes once more, then nodded, just slightly, before turning away to follow Scott and Jean.

With Logan gone, Remy felt the connection wane, and with the return of his self-control, he felt his knees go weak from the stress of the attack. He wobbled over to the stairs and slid down onto a wide oak tread. Resting his back against the railing, her closed his eyes for just a minute to gather himself. He heard the other two recruits quietly move away, confused and afraid, and he was thankful for the respite. 

He had survived, for the moment. This place was far more dangerous than he had imagined. He didn’t think anyone realized just exactly what happened. He wasn’t quite sure himself. Logan obviously felt the same connection as Remy did, and Jean must have sensed that. She’s obviously very possessive over her… toys. He hadn’t felt love from her, only lust and possessiveness. From Scott and Logan’s response to the attack, they obviously didn’t understand what happened, and from the mental moaning above, he doubted Xavier was even aware that it took place. He took a couple of deep breaths to control the shaking of his hands.

Honestly, he doubted from Jean’s earlier behavior that she would divulge the circumstance of her mistake. Remy had made an inadvertent enemy, and he’d have to be especially careful of her. That might not have been her only trick. She seemed to be enraged at Logan’s interest in him, so that would provide an excellent tool to keep her off-balance. This mission was going to be like walking in the swamp – a constant battle not to step on the snakes. He was amazed that he was still alive. 

Remy sighed, and let the world slowly regather itself.


	5. Dark Legend Chapter 5 - Utimizo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. Charles and Ororo seek that which they have lost. RATING: NC-17, PAIRING: Charles/Ororo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication.  
> 2) This Ororo is Kenyan and speaks some words in Swahili. These words and their definitions follow the piece to avoid spoiling plot elements. See end notes.  
> 3) Thanks to Amy Lou for the bunny lines. I put them to good use, and got them  
> out of your head!  
> 4) Originally posted: 06/20/2002.

* * *  
High above, in her small penthouse atop the staff wing of the Academy, Ororo stood, hands unconsciously clawed, gripping the stone railing. She was lost, another barely noticed hour of another long New England night spent standing on the balcony, staring blankly over the fields and trees into the distance, eyes forever white now. She barely slept after the metamorphosis, both fueled and enraptured by her new state of being.

Since her recovery, she had known that she was different - so _very_ different - she could barely recall the reason she existed before. The trappings of her life – her friendships, her studies, her prized plants, her collection of original African art, her weaving – had all fallen away, seeming small and unimportant now.

“The Goddess embraced me,” she murmured over and over to herself like a mantra, breath visible in the chill she unconsciously generated about herself though the night was warm.

She could feel the weave - the colors, the textures, the iridescence. She was enmeshed, but she was above, soaring bird-like over the tapestry that was the physical world. A technicolor patchwork of ever changing, pulsing, glittering threads. It drew her away, the colors, the patterns – the edge of a cloud, the tumbling of a boulder down the mountainside. Everything was there, every boulder, every wave, every breeze and fire. Every non-living thing on the planet was hers to behold in minute detail, each woven into the other in a seamless pattern. But, she, _she_ was not merely restricted to merely seeing the tapestry of life, she could change it with a thought, pulling threads like Atropos spinning fate. A power beyond compare, without an equal. 

But the tapestry was an inhuman place, sterile, lonely, intricate patterns of inorganic energy. She felt the emptiness, the cold. It drew her in, and unconsciously her world mirrored her mind. The stone was wintry under her fingers. She felt the essential warmth of herself slowly trickling away, and had felt it for some time. But the ability to affect that was beyond her power, even now. 

Annoyed, frightened, and frustrated, the Goddess screamed into the night, a cold, inhuman, terrifying sound. Lightning launched upward into a cloudless sky. 

Untethered, released, she had begun to drift.

* * *  
They were nothing, but they were everything.

He was adrift on a sea of stars in a vast darkness, the tiny brilliant lights seductive, colored unique. But the spaces were achingly empty. 

His mind wandered across the astral universe, with only the faint creak of the leather of his chair or the insistent need of his physical body to remind him to return. He could travel so far now, far enough to get lost.

No longer were the stars singular entities. Though he could reach out to one, hearing it’s song - sometimes shrill and sometimes melodic – it was rare to juts have one in his mind. He heard constellations, galaxies. A symphony of cacophony that was both stunningly beautiful and awesomely terrifying. It played in his head constantly now, even his formidable shielding inadequate to block them out for long periods of time. When not immediately engaged in the real world, he caught himself drifting on the cacophony of life. 

He knew that his new powers were too much, that the changes that the virus had made were dangerous for even someone with his control, but once he heard the music – the marriage of Cage and Glass and Mozart – he could not imagine it’s absence. He could not fathom how he existed before. Even using Cerebro didn’t touch the experience. It was limited, filtered, artificial, small in comparison. 

His sensory perception of humans had become acute, but thankfully his involuntary perception of mutants hadn’t been altered very much. Though he could hear the collective humanity nearly all the time, he had to focus like before to read his children. But his ability to produce prodigious psychic force was universal. He hadn’t been able to resist testing his range and his power, using both humans and his children as test subjects. He was well aware that he shouldn’t have done it, especially without their consent, but sometimes shortcuts had to be taken. He couldn’t help but think it was for the best in the long run. 

After all, they were going to come again, and probably soon – if not the Friends of Humanity, then another group. The attack Eric had predicted was virtually certain to come – the fear and the hate was a prominent theme in the music. If the humanized Legend Virus returned to the US, the attack would come, probably within hours of the announcement in the press.

Preparations were underway, mutants being gathered, and for now he could wait. The music lulled him away, adrift among the stars, and Charles sat in the leather high-backed chair at his desk, staring off into the distance, solitary but never alone now. 

Never alone. 

* * *  
Charles floated out into the entry hall. With his newly awakened telekinetic power, he could have ‘walked’ but it was far less trouble to fly. Though his current telekinetic abilities were inferior to those Jean had developed before the virus, they were still a formidable addition to his abilities.

Three new mutants had arrived to join the cause, and Charles wanted to meet them in person. Actually, to _impress_ them in person. Though he already had a tough subcommander in the new Scott, and an effective drill sergeant in Logan, a taste of the power at the top was always the most effective tool of obedience he had found over the years. 

Of the three, two had been recruited. Akasha Williams, an African American woman of twenty-two, had the ability to destroy molecular structure. All indications suggested that training would allow her to develop a significant offensive capability. Marco DeLaria, a twenty year old Italian, had the ability to assume a fluidic form. He thought that their abilities would be extremely useful. 

The third recruit, twenty-nine year old Acadian Remy LeBeau, had been sent by his father, a notorious underworld figure. He was a world-class thief, had exceptional night vision and agility, was a trained warrior, and had a energy conversion mutation that allowed small objects to become explosive weapons. 

/Potentially very useful,/ Charles thought as he passed though the door. /But his fortuitous arrival is suspicious./

Scott was pacing up and down in front of the three new recruits, explaining in no uncertain terms about what would be expected of them. All three stood uncomfortably but calmly, not quite looking at Cyclops as he paced. He was acting rather like Wolverine, Xavier noted. 

Charles cleared his throat, mentally clamping down on the psychic music that overwhelmed him at times.

Scott stopped immediately, nearly snapping to attention. Looking to Charles, Scott Summers introduced their leader, revealing just a hint of the seething anger under his steely control. “I would like you to meet our commander, Charles Xavier.”

Three pairs of eyes turned and watched as Charles floated around to face them. He looked at each in turn, briefly scanning them. He nodded at Akasha, then Marco, finding them suitable and genuine in their interest. 

Suddenly, in the back of his mind he felt a strong presence. Distracted, he turned his mind away for a moment. Ororo was coming, and she was coming for him. The emotions and the power were rolling off her in waves. 

He turned his attention back to the other recruit, trying to finish before Ororo descended. He sent his mind toward Remy LeBeau. 

/Curious,/ he thought. The Cajun’s mind rippled like a drop of water in the wind, deflecting his probe. He opened his mouth to speak. 

Then she was there, projecting directly to his mind. Her intentions were clear and so powerful. He turned in space to look at her, a dusky midnight goddess in pale gray. Her eyes smoldered, electricity palpable in the air. Her projections were making him hard, and the offer she presented was just possibly too good to be denied. 

*A moment,* he sent to her, hoping that she would take no offense. Though he could take her, he wouldn’t want to ruin such a valuable asset.

Charles turned back to the new recruits, the Cajun in particular noting their interaction with great interest. He felt Ororo’s impatience building very quickly.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Charles told them as warmly as he could muster, his distraction bleeding through. “I hope your time with us will be productive. Now, if you will excuse me…”

Charles turned back to Ororo, who’s color was rapidly darkening with displeasure. Tiny sparks were crackling about her, causing her long white hair to undulate wildly behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the smile that played on the Cajun’s lips.

/I have to watch that one,/ he thought to himself as he willed himself to move to her side.

Floating quickly up the stairs, he joined his Goddess for the ascent to her temple, having already decided to accept her wicked offer. 

* * *  
/I will not beg. Will. Not. Beg. Goddesses do not beg./  
Ororo knew this, yet Charles sat across the room sending phantom touches along her body and waiting for her to do just that. She wanted this, she wanted him, his body, his essence. The tang of desperation was a sour tang on her tongue.  
She had known that she was slipping, less human every night, and it frightened her. She had considered her options all night, and when dawn had come, she had made her decision. There really was no other choice – the Goddess had to take a consort, and only one was a suitable match.  
So she had chosen to present him with a offer he couldn’t refuse. A partnership, a merging with her nearest equal, the coupling of mind, flesh, and power. The taming of the only one that could stop her from doing whatever she chose.   
He had accepted as she knew he would – her flesh was still alluring and her power an aphrodisiac to one such as him. He was both more and less than he was, but still experienced and powerful – and unbalanced as was she.  
Together they could be unstoppable. Together they would be complete.   
Now she stood, as was her wont, gripping the stone balcony of her aerie, reveling in the feelings her drew forth from her depths, the humanity that she drank like blood to a vampire.   
The air grew warm and still.  
She could feel him, see the threads of power. He wanted her, not just her body, though he ached for that. No, Charles ached for her _mind_, her dispassionate control. And her power.  
His hunger was a terrible thing, and for a moment it unnerved her. Playing with such power was like playing with fire. But fire was something she understood, something she controlled. She could ignite the air about him with the faintest flicker of her mind, faster than his telekinetic shield could operate.  
His eyes glimmered in the fading light, and the invisible kneading moving across her like the last flickers of sunlight at dusk. She relaxed, reassured, growing excited my his ministrations.   
Without warning, she spun to face him, eyes rings of power arcing into space, then stopped perfectly still, staring at her ex-mentor.   
He was a handsome man, powerful, rich. He wore his strength like a cloak. He could be her mate – and he wanted to be, mind and body, his desire plain, his erection clearly visible. She licked her lips in anticipation.   
He had never been a father figure to her as he had to Scott. She had known her father, and he had died with the other of her tribe. Died because of her. No, Charles had ever been her friend - her rafiki, her advisor. There was no reason that they should be apart. There was no one to stop her now that Charles had come to her, not even his ex-mate, once locked away but now free.   
“Come to me, serehangi,” she whispered, both commanding and pleading, the sound crackling on the air like static, and she raised her arms, beckoning.   
Charles look at her, and for a moment, she saw him falter, unsure. But as quickly as it came, it vanished, and the older man rose before her on legs powered by force of will alone. He walked to her, his eyes glittering, never leaving hers. They promised many things – lust, need, hunger. She stood, rooted, as he crossed to her, his mind caressing her in ways she had never dreamt of.   
He stopped before her, within the circle of her arms but not touching her, and leaned in with his mouth. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the rush of his kiss and the fury of his mind.   
But the touch did not come, and after a moment she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, hands just off her body, lips millimeters from hers. She watched in incredulity as he smiled, but did not lean in.  
Her anger flared, face contorting frighteningly, and lightning echoed across the sky as it arced overhead. The crack of her hand striking his face sounded in counterpoint.  
He staggered back a moment, but his eyes never left hers, the smile not fading even as the blood trickled from his nose. He straightened, and stood his ground.  
*Good, this isn’t a game,* he whispered in her mind.  
She staggered and groaned as he dumped the lust of a hundred men directly into her mind.   
* * *  
He tasted the copper of blood on his lips, and it made his blood sing. He had never really understood Logan’s memories of this call of unbridled lust until just this very second. Experiencing it secondhand just didn’t compare.   
The tenuous connection that he had established with the Goddess flared with power, a power so alien that it stunned him.  
But he _wanted_.   
Something of his own, not borrowed, not imaginary, but tangible. Someone to act out the thousand fantasies that he had acquired along with the lust for women. He was desperate for her nearly inhuman control. And of course there was the power.  
Still smiling, he straightened by fortifying the fields about his legs. Even her terrible anger was beautiful.  
His soul throbbed in time with the lightning blasts overhead, the link providing a hint of what she felt. He opened it a little wider.   
Attraction, lust, want, need. Her primal simplicity producing a primal greed. Honesty.   
*Good, this isn’t a game,* he whispered in her mind.  
He closed the distance between them in an instant, roughly catching her mouth in a ferocious kiss. He forced his tongue between her lips, tasting metal and desperation, holding her firmly in grasp. He sent a pulse of the sensations that it was producing in him over the connection.   
He felt her struggle for a moment, but after a second of initial surprise, she relaxed into his grip, and her tongue and lips began to respond to his ministrations. He ran his tongue across his lip before plunging it back into her mouth, adding the tang of copper to the mix of emotion and ozone. She moaned, her hands clutching roughly on his sides.  
He shifted slightly, allowing his straining erection to press up against her thigh, moaning at the contact in a low rumble and releasing another glimpse at his sensations.  
Ororo grabbed his face in one hand his ass in the other, gripping both tightly, hard enough to embed nails in flesh. Electricity crackled. Overwhelmed, he arched back and let loose a shout and the connection opened between them.  
* * *  
The world expanded, energy superimposed over melody… colors, vibrations, textures, music. His Goddess was there with him, connected, arcing like points in a Volta sphere, and they floated above and within… rocking, pulsing. He could feel his body, separate but joined… her body was his… a juxtaposition of completion, a confluence of power. They rode the waves of iridescence, power flushing through them.  
She had jerked him down to her, tongue plunging, teeth nipping, seeking connection. White teeth worried his lower lip. The sensation made him whimper and thrust against her muscular thigh. The air about them warmed and grew bright.   
He caressed her breasts, nipples being aroused, gently tweaked… harder, harder. Invisible hands cupped and kneaded her buttocks, producing rolling pleasure that caused he to cry out. Screams and moans echoed thought the grounds.   
His jacket was quickly discarded, shirt half torn off, shredded my manicures claws, and dangled, held on his muscular torso only by a shredded silk tie. She nipped and groaned as hands slid under her dress and over her wet mound.   
Bloody streaks were left in shuddering starts marking his broad back and staining the expensive shreds white cotton with crimson.   
Her dress was lifted, panties tugged down and forgotten, fingers expertly plunging in time to his driving tongue, as he pressed her back against the railing.   
Spinning him about and pressing him back, she sought his nipples in the white fur and bit them over and over in waves. His pants were undone, dropped around ankles, belt hanging, nothing else in the way of the expanse of flesh. His aching, weeping hardness was stroked rhymthically above mentally-stiffened, trembling thighs. The white hot building of need - his, hers, others… stars connecting, fire spreading, an arcing web of insistent lust.   
Above them, the skies cleared, revealing the a handful of stars encircled by blood red clouds. They were rising, winds circling.  
A scream. A shout. Penetration. Floating free.   
Wetness. Faerie fire. Thrusting. Heat. Need.  
Invisible probing. Flying. Multiplicity.   
Slamming. Incoherence. Merging.   
Stars twinkling across an iridescent tapestry.   
Arcing incandescence.  
Utimizo.   
* * *  
The Goddess awoke to the first light of the sun, lying sprawled over the sleeping form of her mate. He was sated, healthy, powerful. She could still feel him.   
She gently extracted herself from him, straightening what little was left of her dress, wincing in pain, and noting the dried blood. She unconsciously returned to stone railing.   
She could feel the sun moving, and she waited patiently, closing her eyes and turning her face to meet the first light of dawn. She was warm for the first time in months.  
She stayed still, enjoying the moment, blocking out that which haunted the fringes of her consciousness, until she could stand it no longer.   
She could feel the chill, out there, waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Ororo, like the Aurora in my 2020 stories, is Kenyan and speaks Swahili as her primary language. The words she uses here are actual Swahili words, defined as follows: utimizo – completion, rafiki – friend; serehangi – mate.


	6. Dark Legend Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. Remy contacts Hank, then forms a more personal dangerous liaison as a cover. RATING: Explicit (explicit sex, swearing, light spanking), PAIRING: Remy/Logan, Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication.  
> 2) Remy note – this is AU, so this Gambit is not the traditional comic character. This Remy is a modern prince of thieves, educated, worldly, more sophisticated. And yes, still screwed up.   
> 3) Thanks to Amy Lou and to X-Tricks for the quick beta reads! You guys put the "T" and the "riff" in 'Teriffic"!  
> 4) Originally posted: 07/14/2002.  
> 5) Challenge #4, Remy/Logan first time.

* * *  
The Xavier Academy – September 7, 2027

It was late and the night was strangely dark despite the full moon. Remy LeBeau was ready to prowl.

The Cajun had escaped to his room after his confrontation with Dr. Gray, needing time to rest and think about the strange people and even stranger behaviors of the inhabitants of this shadowed manse. The long night, filled with strange sounds and thunder, was followed by an even longer morning of waiting for retribution. Finally, driven by hunger, he was forced to venture out to the dining room. Summers had pretty much ignored him, and Wolverine had given him the eye more than once, but no one had seemed overtly hostile. Remy had grinned inside – knowing that he had successfully penetrated the X-Men. 

The Danger Room training session that afternoon was brutal, and Logan was a tough taskmaster. Regardless of the effects of the virus, Logan was still a fighting machine, powerful and deadly. Remy had had difficulty paying attention to the training exercises – the hot throbbing that surfaced whenever the Canadian was near echoed in his head. Akasha had proven a highly trained fighter, but her mutant powers were very undeveloped. Marco, however, had little fighting skills, but with his mutant ability, he was truly difficult to damage. Remy had been the only one to wrest anything close to praise from Wolverine, and he knew his training was exceptional. They had all left tired and bruised.

Dinner had been more comfortable, and he had met some of the other, younger residents. From what he could tell, Drake, Allerdyce, and Lee had changed a bit, but their personalities were still recognizable from the briefs. Apparently, not everyone had been affected similarly, and that gave him some confidence. From some of the comments made, he could tell that they were deeply disturbed at the behavior of their commanders, a fact that could come in handy. 

That night, he had waited until it was late, after the lightning had stopped and the clouds cleared, after the shrieks and groans had subsided, then slipped from his room into the velvety darkness.

***

The sound of knuckles on wood echoed softly through the lab. 

Though it was quite dark in the basement room, Remy had no trouble seeing the lab was empty. A pale glow came from the doorway in the back. He silently passed along the delicate glass devices that seemed to be everywhere, stopping just short of the doorway. 

“”Ello,” he said softly. In the back of his mind, he could feel the pulse of Logan growing nearer. Before descending, Remy had spotted him patrolling the grounds. “Dr. McCoy?”

He didn’t want to scare the man.. He could feel that they were alone in the lab, and now that he was close, he thought his target might just be asleep.

“Docteur McCoy?” he said a bit louder, stepping through the doorway. 

“Snnnkaaaht… eh… huh?” a deep voice rumbled. Click. 

There was a faint click and the lights flashed on. Remy’s vision went white. The Cajun stood his ground, throwing one hand up to cover his flash blind eyes. 

“Who, may I ask, are you, and why are you bothering me?” the deep voice rumbled grumpily. 

Remy could feel the determination and the weariness and the hint of despair in the man. No cruelty, just defensiveness. Henry McCoy was unaltered. Even blind, Remy relaxed a bit, an unstoppable grin spread across his face. He stuck his free hand out in the general direction of the scientist. 

“M’ name’s Remy LeBeau, an I was sent t’ help you.”

***  
Hank McCoy had been asleep at his computer, mid sentence in his lab notes. He looked blearily at the tall, lean, copper-haired man in the doorway for his office. “Excuse me, but you are going to have to explain that more clearly.”

Remy, his eyes finally beginning to adjust to the light, saw a huge blue and white blur sitting in a chair in front of him. Since no hand was forthcoming, he dropped his extended hand.

“I was sent by Nat’aniel Essex…” Remy began, to be cut off by the snnickttt of metal behind him. 

“Sinister!” The word was spit a him in a low voice filled with anger and disgust. “You’re one of Essex’s fucking toadies?!”

/Mered!/ 

Remy turned to see Logan glowering at him from the shadows, eyes almost glowing in fury. His adamantium claws glinted eerily in the gloom. The cold prickle of fear danced on the nape of his neck and the hot throb of the man’s proximity made him visibly shiver. Obviously, the X-Men were aware of Essex’s Sinister activities. Logan took a menacing step toward him. 

“Wait, Remy can explain, he’s here t’ help!” the Cajun sputtered, glancing about for an escape route. There wasn’t one unless he wanted to seriously hurt someone. Since that step was premature, he raised his hands, palms up, to show he meant no harm.

Logan took another step, claws coming up, when Hank snapped at him. “Logan! I think we should let Remy explain.”

The Canadian stopped at the order, but looked like he was struggling not to follow through on his initial instincts. It took him a moment before the claws retracted, and the powerful man did not move, keeping the Cajun firmly trapped between them. 

“Now I think you should enlighten us, and I would be careful not to leave anything out,” the blue man suggested mildly, letting just the slight hint of a threat color his voice. Remy glanced back at him, surprised at the obvious size and strength of the blue furred man. Despite the leonine face, Remy could see the kindness in his eyes., but he could feel that his heart was resolute.

Remy caught McCoy’s eye, looking pleadingly at him for a second before sliding his eyes to toward Wolverine. He repeated the telling glance, then looked at him questioningly. 

“Logan’s a friend, Mr. LeBeau. You can speak freely.”

Remy chose to relax, forcing an air of casualness. He fumbled in his trench for his gitanes, pulling a few cards to the top of a pack with two fingers as he extracted the cigarette from an open pack with another two. He turned, leaning back against a tall filing cabinet so he could more easily see both men, and touched the end of the rolled paper to one finger before sliding it into his mouth. The tip blossomed into flame for just an instant, and he took a drag.

“M’ name is Remy LeBeau, of the N’Awlins LeBeaus. I am… a free agent. Nat’aniel Essex is occasionally a client. He helped me in the past, and I did some jobs f’ him.”

Logan leaned menacingly toward him.

Hurriedly, Remy continued defensively, “Nothing bad. Remy not a bad homme.” 

Hank noticed the curious slip into the third-person.

The Cajun looked hard at the Canadian, daring to challenge the man to underscore his sincerity. Logan glowered back, but backed off.

“I thought dat homme was a good guy until a few weeks ago. He called me f’ a job, and he sent me t’ find you.” Remy nodded to Dr. McCoy, then took another drag and exhaled another lungful of clove-scented smoke into the air. He felt the throb again from the shorter man, stronger than before. Glancing over, he caught the fluttering of Logan’s eyes that accompanied his scenting of the air. He obviously liked cloves. 

Remy made a mental note, /Mutant nose./

“But why would he do that?” McCoy asked patiently. 

“L’homme’s sick. He got the virus, but it’s not like everybody else. Essex’ is getting sick, but very slowly - he must have some way to slow the virus, an he sent me here to find out if you were alive. L’homme needs help, and he says you de expert. Nat’aniel sent some data…” 

A data disk appeared in his hand as if my magic, and he handed it to the scientist. Hank McCoy raised an eyebrow at the man, but accepted the disk. He then motioned for him to continue.

“Nat’aniel thought it would help. He also sent Remy, since dis soul’s immune.”

Hank looked past Remy to Logan, exchanging glances with the gruff man.

“Before he briefed me on the mission, exposed me t’ some powdered virus.”

“Sinsiter can isolate the virus?” McCoy asked, clearly interested now. 

Remy nodded. “When I didn’t get sick, he told me the story – what happened, what will happen if you don’t succeed. He said that the humans don’t have a chance without you.” 

Hank looked thoughtful, but Remy could feel Logan’s distrust. 

“Know it’s hard t’ believe, but Remy didn’t know Essex was a bad homme. Gambit jus’ thought he was a mutant doctor doin research. Remy could tell from your reaction y’all must have some bad blood with Sinister. He didn’t know any of dat until after he told me of this place. No doctor, mutant or non, would have that kind of information. After Remy left to come here, he checked him out and found out he’s a bad, bad homme.”

“Then why ya stll working for him, bub?” Logan growled. 

“Remy not working for him, he’ll never work f’ dat monster again. He’s working for the people that are going to die!” the Cajun sputtered as loud as he dared. Logan could smell the truth.

Remy took a last drag, dropped the butt, and ground it out with his toe. 

“Blood and agony,” he muttered.

* * *  
Quietly, Remy and Logan snuck back down the hallway toward the stairwell. 

Hank’s lab was far from Xavier’s office in an almost unvisited corner of the large building. It was unlikely that they would be seen, but they were being as cautious as possible. 

“Logan, Remy’s gonna need t’ go to town soon t’ place a call,” he whispered, though there was no tangible reason for it. The hallway was partially illuminated this late, providing plenty of light for his sharp eyes, but the gloom that surrounded the Academy seemed thicker here in the shadows. “Xavier’s got the com system bugged. Find a reason for me t’ go. Maybe an errand for someone?”

The Cajun could feel the man beside him, his lust, his anger, his fear. He could feel his physical warmth, even this far away, and he could feel the fire in his mind that surged and ebbed with his heartbeat. It made his blood burn, distracting in this close proximity.

“Lemme think. I’m sure I can figure something out. For some reason, no one seems to want to leave this God-forsaken place,” Logan grumbled. 

Remy reached out to touch the older man on the shoulder. “God not gone, cher. Jus’ leaving us t’ our own devices for a bit.”

Logan had started to reply when Remy made first contact. The touch rocked him and he turned to look at the Cajun as the friendly gesture had an electrifying effect. Logan had been noticing an odd feeling for the last few days that came and went. It felt warm and erotic, longing and lust, a tiny pulsing like a heartbeat in the back of his mind. He had suspected that Jean or Xavier was messing with his mind, but when Remy touched him, the feelings flared like the sun. His heart shuddered in his chest at it shifted to match the thudding in his mind. “What the..”

Remy gasped, and snatched his fingers back. He simply stared at the shorter man, face burning with embarrassment and arousal. The connection left him breathless and he struggled to explain. “I’m sorry, Logan. I can’t help it…”

“What _was _ that?” Logan sputtered louder than he should have, face hardening. Almost as instantly, he suddenly stopped and he cocked his head toward the stairway, sniffing. 

Remy watched the Canadian’s eyes widen in panic. The Cajun felt his fear as Logan whispered to him almost soundlessly.

“Jean. Coming down the stairs.”

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, but rather than fear or panic, Remy was surprised that he felt nothing but anger at the mention of the woman for what she had done to Logan and a strange new possessiveness that was unsettling. Training become habit, he refocused and glanced around for a hiding spot. He didn’t want Jean to connect him with Hank, and there wasn’t much of a reason for he or Logan to be in the basement other than to see Dr. McCoy. 

There wasn’t even so much as a broom closet to hide in, but Remy consoled himself that it was likely she’d feel Logan’s presence anyway.

Gambit could hear her on the steps now - there was no time. He needed a diversion, and did the first thing that came into his mind. 

“Logan gonna have to trust Remy,” he whispered to the older man. 

Remy caught Logan’s eyes and held them. The Cajun took a deep breath and let it out. “I only ask once.”

He waited for the answer. Logan looked thoughtful, catching the change in person, then he closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. After what seemed like and eternity, the Canadian opened his deep brown eyes and looked back intently, probing before he nodded his assent. 

Without hesitation, the Cajun grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders, turning him so they were face to face and backed him hard up against the wall. The strange link between them flared, stronger then ever before, as Remy molded himself to the other man’s frame. He could feel the warmth of Logan’s flesh and the overwhelming heat in his mind blossomed between them. 

The Cajun slid his left thigh between Logan’s legs and firmly up to his crotch. His left hand slid around one side to grab a handful of hard ass, while the other slid up his massive chest to cradle his hard furred jaw line and corded neck. Remy’s eyes locked into the other man’s brown ones and he could see the fear and lust there. Those emotions seemed to provoke Logan’s wild side and the burlap and buzzsaw edge to his emotions both disturbed and intrigued Remy. 

Logan opened his mouth to speak, and Remy promptly took the opportunity to shove his tongue deep into the other man’s warm, wet mouth. 

“Unggh… uh… ummm… ohhh… mmmmmm.”

Remy had been able to feel the emotions of other lovers in the past, but the connection that he felt with Wolverine was something entirely different and far more intense. He felt like they were merging in a strange way, and he resisted, concerned about the strangeness. As the kiss continued and deepened, he could feel Logan’s surprise and confusion, then his attraction and, oddly, respect. Almost instantaneously, Remy made the decision to see where this went. 

It might have been unsettling if it didn’t feel so right, so hot and perfect. 

The Cajun sighed as Logan relaxed, giving in to the rush. Tongues entwined, he felt the other man lean into him, hands tentatively touching then grasping. Remy could feel the heat of his burgeoning erection against his thigh. The air was thick with the sounds of their grappling.

Head spinning, Remy broke the kiss and leaned back from the older man, needing air but not wanting to relinquish the contact. He watched Logan’s head turn just a bit, reluctant to look away from him, and he knew he was checking for Jean. After an instant, his brown eyes met his, then flicked to the stairwell. She was there, watching. 

Remy leaned back in and whispered, “Time for a lil’ show.”

* * *  
Jean had been returning from the medical bay, where she had just finished doing some preliminary testing on Akasha and Marco when she had felt Logan’s presence.

/Strange… why would Logan be in the basement?/ Not feeling the presence of anyone else, she smiled wickedly to herself. /Time for a treat!/

With a sway that would put a supermodel to shame, Jean strutted over to the stairwell. Disappointed that there wasn’t anyone there to appreciate it, she sighed, but consoled herself with the fact that Logan would appreciate her attention. She wasn’t sure Scott was very happy with their quality time as of late, but that was another matter. She pushed that thought out of her mind, and started to think about what she was going to do with her pet when she found him. He was most assuredly a bad dog.

She descended toward the basement level, not terribly far from Hank’s domain. She proceeded a bit more carefully, not wishing to get distracted from her fun by running afoul of the big blue lion. The paneled stairwell and the wooden treads tended to muffle noise, and she listened closely before she reached the bottom. She could make out some soft noises from below, whispering and scuffling, but she couldn’t make out who. Sending her thoughts, she discovered Logan very nearby, but Hank some distance away in his lab. She didn’t feel anyone else, but it didn’t sound like Logan was alone. Jean flattened herself along the wall at the bottom of the steps, listening. 

“Y’ good at following directions, mon ami? Good. You gonna do exactly what Remy says, and he’ll make it worth your while.”

/LeBeau!? LeBeau’s going to fuck with MY Logan!?/ 

Logan was HER pet. The red hot flush of rage flooded her mind, overwhelming nearly everything else, and she literally saw red. Instinctively, she prepared to fire a psionic bolt at the Cajun.

“Non claws, non hands. Remy wouldn’t want to leave any marks on you f’ Jean to see. Don’t want to see her hurt herself again, non?”

A cold rush of fear beat down the fire in her mind. If it wasn’t for Charles’ ‘always up’ shield training, she would have fried her own mind two days ago. The Cajun somehow reflected the attack back on her. She hadn’t known about his mental powers; he hadn’t divulged them to Xavier before he arrived, at least according to his file. Fortunately, no one else had figured out what happened that afternoon, but now Remy had told Logan. Now he knew that she had been weak. Logan didn’t respect weakness. She started to get angry again.

“No. I’ll be good. Just don’t hurt Jeannie. I’ll be good,” Logan almost whined in the lowest, rumbling voice she had ever heard him make. The words and the sounds sent a shiver down her spine to her groin, leaving her afraid and amazingly aroused. The Canadian still cared for her.

“Unnnmph…. unnnnh…. ohhhh… mmmmm,” the deep voice resonated, the wet sounds of lips and tongues echoed through her brain, partly from her ears and partly from Logan’s mind. 

Jean wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or peek around the corner and watch. After listening for another minute, she was breathless with arousal and decided on the latter.

* * *  
He met Logan’s eyes. They reflected his lust and worry and fear. Jean was just around the corner, and Remy had to do something to calm Wolverine. He needed Logan.

“Non claws, non hands. Remy wouldn’t want to leave any marks on you f’ Jean to see. Don’t want to see her hurt herself again, non?” Remy looked hard at the older man, eyes flinty to emphasize the last part, though nothing was given away by his tone. The Cajun took the man’s wrists one at a time, crossing them above his head and against the wall. He held them there, pressing slightly to indicate that they should remain where they were placed.

Logan looked confused, so he nuzzled the man, nipping at his throat before pulling back to look at him pleadingly. Remy thought as loud as he could, /Play along./ 

After a seconds, he saw Logan’s eyes clear. There was a sparkle in his eye as he added a whine to a rumble. “No. I’ll be good. Just don’t hurt Jeannie. I’ll be good.”

Remy could feel the man’s voice in his chest, and he pressed his mouth to the Canadian’s to muffle his gasp at the sensation. The link pulsed with a burning ache. 

“Unnnmph…. unnnnh…. ohhhh… mmmmm.” 

Remy was beginning to lose himself. He tore himself away from the wet mouth. He had to take control, of himself and the situation. He stepped back from the Canadian, then moved back in, lightning fast, when he saw the man begin to move toward him. A hard, heavy thunk rang down the hall as Remy slammed Logan’s wrists back against the wall. Nose to nose, the Cajun looked hard at the rough face of his new partner. 

“Remy didn’t say y’ could move those, cher. He’s in charge now.”

Logan looked like he was about to bolt, so Remy pressed the heel of his palm against the bulge in the shorter man’s denims, pressing hard along the hot length. Logan gasped, and Remy moved close enough that he knew the other man could feel his breath, noses almost touching. Logan closed his eyes and groaned, but the wrists stayed in place. Remy traced the planes of Logan’s face with his nose, not quite touching. Logan shuddered all the same. 

Remy watched the first drop of sweat slide down the side of the Canadian’s face. Unable to resist, he lapped it up with an agile, pointed tongue. They both groaned at the contact, and Logan struggled to resist reaching out to him. 

“It’s a little too warm in here, non?” 

Logan wasn’t much for buttons apparently, because his flannel shirt was already open halfway. Remy thought halfway was not nearly far enough, and brushed a fingertip over the threads on the remaining buttons. The threads glowed brightly for a moment before they disintegrated and the buttons fell to the floor with tiny, clear pings. Remy couldn’t take his eyes from the expanse of dense hair that covered Logan's chest and stomach. As the last button fell, he leaned forward and rubbed his face between those incredible pecs. 

“Ohhhhhhh!” the shorter man groaned. 

Remy nuzzled the flannel out of the way, nipping and lapping to the nipple. Finding it, he licked in small circles until it was erect. Then Remy reached down with his hand and simultaneously squeezed Logan’s cock and clamped the Canadian’s nipple between his teeth. The rumble in the man’s chest exploded in a ecstatic shout as Remy leaned back, tugging on the nipple and milking his dick downward along the length.

Remy almost came as he watched the dark-haired man react to his ministrations, his arms visibly shaking with the strain of not moving. His hands flexed uncontrollably, when he repeated the act on the other side. Logan was leaking through his jeans when he lapped back up to reclaim his mouth. 

The kissed for just a moment, then Remy started worrying his neck, shoulders, and collarbone with his teeth while unfastening Logan’s jeans. Logan went commando, so it only took a few seconds before Remy has his hand on that magnificent derriere. He squeezed and pinched until Logan was hypersensitive, flinching with pleasure at each assault. He slowly worked his way downward until he was exactly where he wanted to be. 

Using the tip of his tongue, Remy slowly and delicately ran his tongue over the Canadian’s testicles, first one then the other. He could feel the man’s thighs quiver, and between the scent of the man and the throbbing in his head, he was nearly out of his mind. He could hear continuous groaning, but he really couldn’t tell if it was him or the other man. He tried and failed to draw both balls into his mouth, and had to settle for bathing one at a time. 

Satisfied that Logan was his, he ran his fingernails down the back of the short man’s thighs and watched him buckle. He reveled in leaning forward to press him back to the wall, supporting him. 

“Don’t worry, cher. Remy never let you fall,” he whispered. He felt the fire in his heart like he was going to explode.

Remy simply clutched the man’s massive thighs for a moment, marveling at his incredible legs. Logan was well trained – his wrists were still crossed above his head.

Remy started nuzzling the thigh in front of him, rubbing stubble and leaving faint tracks. Logan’s groans were evidence of his appreciation. He worked his way up to the man’s groin, moving up and around, but never really stimulating the man’s beautiful erection. By the time he made it to the other side, Logan was shaking his hips desperately, trying to get some contact. Remy smiled a wicked grin. 

“Non, cher. Not yet. You been good, but you have t’ be better,” Remy crooned. Logan whimpered like a puppy, incoherent. He literally gasped as Remy broke contact and stepped away. “Keep your hands where dey are.”

Remy grabbed Logan at the waist and spun him around, the shorter man shuffling with his jeans binding his ankles. He reached up, pulling his crossed hands down the wall a bit, then tugging his hips back. Finally, he tapped the inside of his ankles until Logan spread his black leather shod feet as far as they could go.

Logan closed his eyes and whimpered as he heard Remy’s shirt come off. From the second he saw the man, he wanted to see him naked in his bed, and now he was naked, and he couldn’t see.

“Now be good, cher, and Remy’ll give you a treat.”

Remy extracted a black velvet glove from his jeans and slipped it over his left hand. He touched the older man along the side with his bare right hand, sliding it down to cup his muscular ass. He whispered, “Magnifique.”

With a sharp crack, Remy drew his right hand back and slapped it back down. Not hard, mostly noise, but the effect was amazing. Logan physically pulsed. In rhythm, Remy stroked his back with his left hand. Logan, silent during the paddle, flexed and groaned at the touch of the glove. 

Slap, stroke, slap, stroke. Remy continued the rhythm, alternating sides. Logan quivered beneath him, his pleasure literally flowing directly into the Cajun’s brain. He had know that part of Logan had enjoyed this with Jean, but now he knew it was him not her. The Cajun watched the glint of light off the threads of pre-come dripping to the floor.

After twelve strokes, Logan was quivering and groaning uncontrollably. Remy made soothing sounds and stroked his back, gentling him. He pressed his denim covered hips to the reddened ass, then wrapped his arms around the older man. He kissed and nipped and licked until Logan’s quivering stopped. 

Remy chuckled a bit then slid his gloved hand around to brush, erect nipples, down the belly, then finally to the base of Logan’s aching cock. “Don’t come, cher. You need your treat.”

A second later he gave only a single long slow, strong pull. He knew Logan was on the very precipice, and he teetered the entire time, but he didn’t come. 

Remy was so very close, he had to switch tactics. Moving the gloved hand to the other man’s hip, Remy began a slow slide down. “Mmmmmm,” the Cajun ran his tongue down Logan’s spine, counting the vertebrae. Logan’s high rectangular glutes were pressed against his chest. He laved across the small of his back and down. Logan having calmed a little, began to squirm, astonished and amazed at the sensations the Cajun was producing. 

Remy scraped his fingernails back up the man’s thighs, while gently blowing to cool the saliva he left on the man’s lower back. He chuckled as he watched Logan shiver, then stood to press his denim clad erection to that incredible ass. Shifting his hips to drag the hardness across the globes of muscle, he felt the Canadian’s discomfort grow. Grinning, he pulled just away from the man and slowly unzipped his fly, letting his jeans fall. With a quick toe and tug, the Cajun stood in the hallway in only his socks and a single velvet glove. 

Feeling mischievous, he asked, “Now, you ready for some more, cher. You want Remy to make you come?”

He waited, feeling the rush of power and lust as he simply watched the heaving of Wolverine’s chest as he struggled to hold his body in position and his mind from going wild. The throb in the Cajun’s mind had gone deeper, and he could feel the ebb and flow of the blood in Logan’s veins. It made him feel strong and powerful.

“Remy, make me come,” the older man finally ground out between clenched teeth. 

“What do we say, cher?” Remy ran a single gloved finger down the man’s spine.

“Please…” Logan whimpered. 

* * *  
Jean was so close. 

Almost laying back on the stairs, Jean was half naked and disheveled, working her body in time with the men below. 

Her power allowed her to tap into Logan’s mind, just enough to give her an idea of Logan’s thoughts, few as they were at the moment. Combined with the sounds and scents from below, she had gotten carried away in their lust. 

Rubbing and tweaking one breast and fingering and rubbing herself under her skirt, she was as close to coming as she knew Logan was. His whimper almost drove her over the edge.

She knew this was a dangerous game – Logan was dangerous enough, but the Cajun was probably just as deadly and an unknown factor. She knew she had to be very careful, but she was so very close.

* * *  
Remy stepped closer, allowing his aching cock to ride along the furrow of Logan’s ass, pressing just slightly so that abdomen was against glutes. He felt Logan’s begin to panic. 

/Logan’s afraid of being fucked? Hmmmm, interestin’. Not going there anyway…/

Remy used the glove to reach up and stroke Logan’s neck, and whispered to him, “Remy not goin’ dere. He got other plans.” 

He gripped the other man and tugged, drawing him upright. Using his other hand, he drew Logan’s arms down. “Keep ‘em crossed.” 

The Canadian almost collapsed in relief. Logan, accepting that Remy wasn’t going to try to penetrate him, relaxed back into the rhythm of the heartbeat.

Remy pulled him backward, tight against his chest and crotch, and reached under his arms to ghost his hands over cut muscle and through the dense hair. He ground his hips slowly into the other man, tweaking Logan’s nipples until his head lolled back onto Remy’s shoulder with a low groan of acquiescence.

“On your back, on de floor, hands crossed over your head and on de floor,” the Cajun whispered.

Reluctantly, the Canadian extracted himself from the Cajun’s grip and moved to the floor in the required position. 

Remy watched the man, animal grace in motion, muscle and sinew responding with a grace that left him breathless. Logan’s cock was deep red, almost purple from the stimulation, and he knew that he was responsible. It was his turn to groan, and the fires of lust made his member pulse and weep. 

One in place, Remy quickly straddled the older man’s waist, pinning him down. Logan looked up at him, eyes filled with a pleading that Remy knew was almost foreign to the man. He caught the Canadian’s eyes and grinned. He watched Logan scan his face, then down, across his well defined chest, following the narrow trail of copper-colored hair that ran across ripped abs and down. He felt the pulse as his eyes fell all the way to his groin, and the Canadian’s erection stirred against the small of his back. The Cajun rested his hands on the other man’s chest and he leaned backward flexing to loosen his back muscles, rejoicing in the spontaneous groan from the man under him. Remy quickly bent down and claimed a deep, sweet kiss, breaking away and smiling mischievously and winking at the older man for just an instant.

“You’ve been a good boy. Now, Remy’s gonna make you come.” Almost too quick to follow, Remy pulled a tiny tube from a pocket on the back of the glove and squeezed some fluid on his right hand. Reaching behind, he quickly slicked his ass, using long dexterous fingers to prepare the way. Unable to resist, Remy undulated to the heartbeat, sliding his length along the deep furrow of Logan’s abs. Remy nearly came at the intense sensation, and finished quickly. 

With another squeeze of lube, he looked back at Logan, who’s eyes were wide with lust. Hands behind his head, the older man’s chest and arm muscles were pulled into relief, and Remy nearly lost his train of thought. “Remy know you’re close, cher. Don’t… come yet.”

He wasn’t sure if he was instructing Logan or himself at that point, but he reached behind him to grasp that truly impressive erection. Slowly sliding his hand up and down a few times, he slicked the other man, then grasped him firmly at the base of his cock. Logan gasped.

After a moment, the Cajun whispered, “Ready?” He waited until the other man nodded.

Quickly, Remy lifted himself up and back positioning himself, gloved hand on Logan’s chest and the other directing the Canadian’s cock. Remy stopped for just a second, just long enough to lock eyes with the other man, then he lowered himself onto the hardness. Logan threw his head back against the concrete as he was enveloped, and Remy whimpered just a bit at the fullness. Halfway he paused for a few seconds allowing himself to adjust.

Both men were sweating freely and the air smelled of sex. The throb that was present in both minds virtually eliminated coherent thought. With a groan, Remy pulled himself up a little, then plunged down until Logan was in all the way. The sensation was indescribable, and they rested, so close to the edge. 

The rhythm intensified, and Remy stared to move, small and gentle at first, throwing in an occasional deep grind of the hips, then harder and higher, his cock thrumming between sets of abs. Logan whimpered, hands flexing, desperate to touch the Cajun, but he restrained himself when he felt the whisper of Remy’s disproval. Remy shifted up onto his feet for more height and Logan drew his knees up to thrust with more power. They moved and shifted, groaning, so hot, hearts beating as one.

“Remy, I’ve got ta…” Logan begged between a growl and a whimper. 

Remy leaned back slightly, bracing his right hand on Logan’s knee, and reached behind him. “Come, cher,” he whispered, then rolled the other man’s balls in the glove. Their bodies shuddered and thrust one last time. 

Logan howled at the top of his lungs as he came, and Remy exploded, untouched, between them.

The world faded for a time, and when they came back to themselves, Remy wasn’t the only one with a smile on his face. The Cajun leaned forward and took Logan’s mouth roughly as he pulled himself off the other man, moving his weight off to the side but settling comfortably on Logan’s heaving chest. 

Together, still connected, they drifted off to sleep. 

* * *  
Jean came hard as the joined orgasm of the men ripped through her eavesdropping brain. Fingers still inside herself, she came in wave after wave, jerking as Logan howled and Remy prayed in French. 

She slumped back onto the stairs, spent for the moment, panting.

/That was incredible,/ she whimpered to herself. She hadn’t known whether she wanted to be Remy or Logan, or both, but she knew she wouldn’t mind doing it again.

She couldn’t read Remy, but when he was with Logan she could feel his presence, amplifying Logan, steadying him. She hadn’t known it was possible. 

Still dazed from the orgasm, but recalling her precarious position, Jean quickly scrambled to get dressed. She tugged her long, red skirt back into place, then realized that her red panties were still hanging around her ankle. She tugged her bra back into position, then fastened her blouse, smoothing everything back down. Hearing no movement from the hallway below and sensing that Logan was too blissed to move, Jean casually kicked back, bringing the ankle bearing the panties up so she could easily tug them off her leg. Still flying, she twirled the thong on her finger, then balled them up in her hand.

/Logan’s spent. I wonder what Scott is doing.../she thought wickedly, a devastating smile appearing. Nearly silently despite four inch heels, she turned and climbed the steps with a feline gait, mind already racing to decide what she was going to do when she found her husband.

/Apparently LeBeau has his uses,/ she thought as she went. /I don’t really have to kill him right away./

She threw a single glance at the bottom of the stairs as she turned the landing, biting her lip just hard enough to taste a hint of blood.

/He’d be a delicious plaything. Dangerous, but delicious…/

* * *


End file.
